


Go with the Floe

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [34]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caring, Cold Weather, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Happy Ending, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, Life-Threatening Situations, Pace-Mates, Recovery, Rescue Missions, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a king of drama and a king of leisure are stuck together with no sign of escape?</p><p>“Sorry, I really did think it would be a nice little spot.”<br/>“Nice?! Sure, a nice little spot to <em>murder</em> me!”</p><p>Probably nothing good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go with the Floe

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Set the story location in a very cold place and use these five words - observation, curl, sneeze, class, birthday"

“I told you this was a bad idea, but of course you didn’t listen to me!”

Beachcomber winced a little under the strength of the glare on Gears’ face. “Well, sorry, Gears, I really did think it would be a nice little spot.”

“Nice?! Sure, a nice little spot to _murder_ me! I should never have let you talk me into this; my hydraulics are freezing!”

“Well, buddy, if you sat next to me I could keep you warm—”

“This tilting is making me dizzy!”

“—and since I’m sitting in the middle of the floe, the tilting’s not as bad,” Beachcomber finished, trying to smile.

Gears hunched his shoulders and scowled further.

“Just an observation. Speakin’ of that, our situation’s not that dreadful. Look at the view!” Beachcomber added, spreading a hand toward the vast expanse around them.

“It’s ocean on all sides!” Gears screeched. “Are you sure the distress message got through before we drifted out of range?!”

“The others will be coming for us,” Beachcomber soothed. “Until then, why don’t you relax with me?”

“Humph! I’m not going to relax until I’m back at base with a thermal tarp and a warmed medium-grade energon cube, thawing out the winches that are being iced up in my core!” Rubbing his arms vigorously, Gears muttered sulkily, “What was this little expedition for anyway?”

Beachcomber leaned back on his elbows, studying the sky. “It was a nice day.”

“ _Was_ being the operative word,” Gears grumped. He glared at his companion yet again and demanded, “Why isn’t your tailpipe frozen by now?!”

“Maybe it is,” Beachcomber replied simply. “It’s numb, so I can’t tell.”

Gears groaned and rubbed his arms again, starting to pace back and forth. Beachcomber’s elbows skidded a little and he sat up with a hint of uneasiness.

“Gears, don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

An ominous creak halted Gears mid-step and he threw his arms out for balance, narrowly catching himself.

“That’s why,” Beachcomber warned. A flash of real panic crossed Gears’ face and he dropped his arms to his sides, suddenly seeming rooted to the spot. “Gears, this glacier is far smaller than you seem to think; you really should come to the middle with me.”

The other Minibot did so, edging his way closer with far more delicacy. As Gears sat down about a foot away, Beachcomber asked, “Still dizzy?”

“Not as much,” Gears admitted, causing a knowing smile and wiping it away just as quickly when he added, “But don’t think I’m going to forget this was your fault.”

“I didn’t know this one little floe would break off from the rest,” Beachcomber protested. “I couldn’t control that.”

“But if it weren’t for you and your ‘nice day’, I wouldn’t have been out here in the first place,” Gears reminded him caustically.

Beachcomber had no response to that. Glancing away, he considered the sun in the distance. It was going to be dark soon; that would bring a drop in temperature. He looked back down before Gears could follow his gaze. No need to send his teammate into another frenzy.

—

As soon as the last rays of the sunset faded to gray, Beachcomber steeled himself, expecting an explosion of furious shouting. There was nothing of the kind and Beachcomber was relieved by this. However, when he glanced over and saw his fellow Minibot with his helm resting on his knees, he couldn’t help but nudge him in concern.

“Gears. Hey.”

Gears peeked up at him sullenly after a few kliks and Beachcomber tugged at his elbow. “Stop being stubborn; sit next to me.”

Gears followed the order with surprising complacency, closing the gap to curl up against him.

“You okay?” Beachcomber questioned. Now that they were touching, he could easily feel the tremble throughout Gears’ frame.

“Just great,” Gears assured him, his sarcasm almost comforting.

“Hey, I, uh…I _am_ sorry about this,” Beachcomber tried, but Gears held up a hand to silence him. For a long while the only sound was that of the waves lapping at the edges of their solitary ice floe. As hard as he tried not to, Beachcomber could feel a shiver pass through his own body. The other Mini looked up, worry clear on his features even by the bad light of their optics.

Beachcomber decided to be forthright with him. “Since we’re run by electricity, the hot currents should help us last a while longer than a human would.”

“Good, I don’t p-plan on stayin’ that much longer,” Gears said, but he couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice.

Despite his words, another joor passed, leaving them stiff and mostly immobile. Shockingly, Gears had abandoned his pride, pressing as close to Beachcomber as he could, jarring them both with his quaking. Beachcomber in turn hugged him securely, their vents passing air back and forth that shouldn’t have been as chilly as it was.

“I see now why you didn’t want to come with me,” Beachcomber murmured, guilt causing him to hunch his shoulders, even further when a foggy breeze brushed his back.

“Always had a lower t-tolerance to the cold,” Gears sighed. “Never found out why.”

“Just another thing we can add to the list for Ratchet,” Beachcomber joked, causing Gears to knock a fist against his knee admonishingly.

“Might not get to.” The words were said so softly that Beachcomber almost didn’t catch them over the whistling wind.

“Don’t talk like that,” he scolded anxiously. “The others will come before you know it, Gears. You and I will be home soon, thawing out like you were saying earlier.”

Before Gears could reply, Beachcomber stiffened as an unexpected sensation passed over him. It seemed that his adaption systems had picked up one of the human habits. He jerked with an unforeseen sneeze and the situation went in a severely downward spiral.

Both occupants gasped as the violent movement sent cracks racing through the surface of their iceberg, a stuttered groan rumbling beneath them. The edge of the floe on their left detached with a terrible snap, bobbing away from them.

“By the Allspark!” Beachcomber yelped in alarm, struggling to hoist himself into a standing position. He pulled Gears up with him; they were an awkward beast with too many wobbly legs. Beachcomber pin-wheeled his arms to stay balanced on the glassy, now dangerous surface. Gears pressed their backs together and whimpered wordlessly.

They tried to suppress their own shaking as the ice shifted, settling gradually. It didn’t help that the forces were against them, the waves shouldering their platform and the wind causing them to sway.

“Hold still,” Beachcomber breathed. “Hold still and everything will be okay.” He hoped his tone was a calming one, but Gears only whimpered again.

“The others will come, I know they will,” Beachcomber swore, scanning the surrounding area for any blips in the distance. “We just need to hang tight until they get here. Gears?” Beachcomber’s feet slid a few inches as his companion leaned on him more heavily. “Whoa, whoa, whoa— _Gears_?”

“’m t-tired,” Gears announced faintly. Panic overriding caution, Beachcomber spun around, the ice spitting up shards around him, and caught Gears as he sank toward a kneeling position.

“Hey, that’s not going to work,” Beachcomber said sharply. “You have to stand on your own; c’mon, up you get! Look at me. Gears, _look at me!_ ”

When Gears finally obeyed, despite his usual aversion to it, Beachcomber nearly cursed. His optics were sputtering, more livid than blue, and lifeless. He had also stopped shivering, though that unnerved Beachcomber instead of pleasing him.

“Don’t you _dare_ make your death my fault,” Beachcomber enunciated sternly.

“’Comber! Gears!” an overjoyed voice hollered from above, startling Beachcomber, who clung to Gears as the ice snapped at him. A rope slapped his arm as it fell, followed by words spoken into a comm. link: “Powerglide calling Optimus Prime. Turns out I was the right mech for the job; I found ’em! You guys okay?”

Realizing this last part was directed at him, Beachcomber shook his helm vigorously. “No! Just get us outta here fast!”

“Well, climb the rope, will ya?”

“Gears can’t; he’s practically frozen solid!”

“Then let’s book him a ticket for the ferry,” Powerglide suggested, his words accentuated by bubbling beneath the surface of the water nearby. Beachcomber glanced over his shoulder and sighed in relief as Seaspray emerged, gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

“Bet I can get back to base faster than you can, Powerglide,” Seaspray gurgled after taking his passenger aboard, careful not to bump the ice on which Beachcomber still stood.

“’Comber, hurry up! Can’t have ol’ Barnacle Butt outracing me!” Powerglide urged.

Beachcomber sank into the pilot seat, grateful for the hot air Powerglide was blasting at him. Painful electrical bursts scurried beneath his frozen armor as it began to defrost; he could only imagine what poor Gears was feeling.

“Wh-What took you so long?” Beachcomber mumbled.

“Well, we got your transmission, but Wheeljack was messin’ with Teletraan One while we were listening, so the coordinates got a little warped. Notice the sarcasm when I say ‘a little’. We’ve had Bots halfway across the planet lookin’ for you! Cos’ even went into the atmosphere to see if there was an energy trail leadin’ away from the planet meanin’ you’d been abducted. You caused a whole new class of panic!”

“Remind me to apologize to Cosmos for his trouble,” Beachcomber sighed. Powerglide scoffed.

“If anyone should be apologizin’, it’d be Wheeljack! But don’t you worry; he got his share of punishment. Ratchet hit ’im in the helm with a wrench—going once, going twice, _three_ times!”

Beachcomber couldn’t help feeling satisfied at this news. Later he joined Gears in the med bay, bearing an offering of medium-grade energon and a thermal tarp before Ratchet accosted him for inspection. Gears snuggled further into the tarp even though he had multiples, blowing steam from his energon.

“So…I suppose it doesn’t mean much now since we got stuck on that iceberg _yesterday_ ,” Beachcomber concluded hesitantly, “but…happy birthday.”

Gears frowned momentarily. “Actually it means a lot, despite the fact that you gave me a fraggin’ sucky present. I nearly _died_.”

“So did I!” Wheeljack complained from the doorway.

Both Minibots turned to give him a combined dirty look, while Ratchet became perfectly still. The medic then slowly lifted his wrench and Gears remarked with a smug little smile, “Although, I pretty sure this is going to make up for it completely.”

Ratchet was not one to disappoint, so Beachcomber toned down his audials to the following screams, settled down next to Gears and thoroughly enjoyed the view.


End file.
